Chapter 6
Pan wasn’t sure they had enough people to load the cart, which they had yet to collect, or haul the cart back to the rec center.
Noah had spoken to the woman at the front and told her they would return with meat for a barbecue—whatever that was—and also some blankets. So now they had to find blankets.
It didn’t matter which way he turned; there was always something else to do. He did not like all this working. Or walking. He hadn’t been to a single party since the collapse, and aside from Noah, the woman at the restaurant, and Noah’s friends, no one was praising him for getting all this done.
And he was no closer to magic.
He shoved his hands in his coat pockets, mimicking Noah’s posture, not sure where they were going.
Noah fell into step beside him. “What’s up with the werewolves’ clothing?”
Pan frowned and looked at the werewolves. They were wearing pants and shirts, though it was clear the pants had been ripped to allow for the tail. “What’s wrong with what they’re wearing?”
“They don’t fit very well. And every other mythological is wearing well-made clothes.” He lifted his leg, the only visible Tarikian clothing because of his coat. “Feryn made sure these fit me.”
Pan turned his head and stared at Noah, but the sharp retort died on his tongue. Noah had never seen a werewolf before the collapse. “They don’t usually look like that. They are usually more like you unless they are shifted into their wolf form.”
“Then why aren’t they shifting?”
“Because they can’t.” He failed to keep the snap out of his words.
Noah blinked, and his mouth opened and closed. “Because there’s no magic?”
“That appears to be the case.”
They turned down yet another street and jumped over a crack in the road that was wide enough for someone to fall into. Getting the cart out was going to be difficult. On the street, there were only a couple of human buildings; the rest were all Tarikian houses and businesses.
“Do you know where we are?”
“Yes…this used to be where the mechanic was, and a tire shop. There were a few other businesses, too, like the carpet store.” Noah pointed at the large boxy building. “Where did they all go?”
“Where are all the missing Tarikian buildings and people?” Pan countered.
“I try not to think about that, given that half the palace is now underground…”
“I do not think everything that isn’t here is underground, or your world would’ve increased in size and your scientists would have said something. It is more likely that they disintegrated when the world collapsed.” Which was better than being crushed to death.
Noah sucked in a breath. “I’m not sure that’s any better.”
“I imagine it would’ve been over in an instant. While they grieve for the ones they’ve lost, it is acknowledged that the survivors are the ones left with the scars. It’s much easier when not everybody has new wounds. When everyone is hurting, who is left to keep the hearth warm?”
“You are.”
“I lost people, too.” And not only worshippers. “I don’t know how many of my siblings survived. Or what they are doing, and I have no way to contact them. I am adrift, and I have never been so alone in my entire life.” He was a god—he wasn’t supposed to be revealing weaknesses.
No one would ever respect him again.
Though at this rate, it wouldn’t matter if he were stuck like this.
“You have me. Maybe next time you should try to contact one of your brothers or sisters.”
Pan released a soft laugh. “We are siblings, but we are also enemies, and occasional lovers and allies, always jostling for power and pleasure.”
“Well, they are both in short supply.”
“Power, yes. Pleasure…that is much easier to find.” He let his gaze linger on Noah, not sure if he liked sleeping with him because of the taste of magic on his tongue or because he liked the way Noah responded to each touch.
He had always been the one being pleasured and had rarely worried about other people. Now he wanted to make sure Noah enjoyed every moment they were together.
Noah’s cheeks turned pink.
The werewolf leading their little group stopped out the front of a house that appeared to have caved in on one side as though hit by an unseen fist. The roof hung precariously over a pile of rubble that had once been in the wall. How long until the roof also gave up?
Pan stifled a groan as he listened to the ogre talk.
“What’s wrong?” Noah asked.
“The ogre says this is her house, and the cart is out the back. All she asks is that we prop up the corner. She wants to return to living instead of hiding.”
The others seemed to agree.
Pan glanced at the people who were supposed to be helping him with the cows. He was rapidly losing control of the situation.
“So we can’t take the cart without first propping up the roof.” Noah tilted his head and studied the group of Tarikians discussing the problem. “And from the looks of it, everyone agrees?”
“She is a…” Pan didn’t know the word in English, so he went for the nearest thing. “Doctor. She has birthed many babies and fixed many bones.”
“Okay. It makes sense why they’d want her to learn English and also fix her house.” Noah nodded as if that was the end of the matter.
“You agree with them?” He did not want to spend what was left of the morning fixing a house. “Even though none of us are tradespeople with the correct human qualifications?”
“We are propping up the roof, so it doesn’t become worse. We are not making a house livable. Perhaps you should clarify.”
Pan muttered a curse and stepped into what had once been the front garden and addressed the group. “We can prop it up. Perhaps while some of us move rocks, someone else can bring the cart around?”
The pack leader grabbed the young werewolf. “We will find planks to put over the gaps in the road. One of these houses will have shelves we can borrow.”
Pan grabbed one of his horns through his knitted hat. He didn’t want to ruin more houses. “Perhaps you should only take from the worst-damaged house—one that cannot be repaired.”
“That is a good idea.” The elf, Samiah, scanned the street, one finger raised as if calculating. “We might be able to save six houses for every damaged one.”
Who was she to make such assumptions? “Were you a builder before?”
“I made furniture with my…with my husband.” Samiah’s words were tight. “This was not my street; we were closer to the blacksmith and potter. But I helped build our workshop, and I know wood. The wolves were stonemasons.”
Jarot, the pack leader, shook his head. “I cannot hold my tools. I can barely carry my baby daughter. I can fetch and carry, but do not give me a delicate task because these hands will not allow it.”
“It’s fucking unfair. That’s what it is,” the younger werewolf growled. “Why isn’t anyone fixing this? Where are the gods?”
Standing in front of you, and useless. His hands may not have changed, but he could do no delicate tasks.
“Dead.” The werewolf continued. “If the elves say there is no magic, then what need is there for gods?”
Pan’s shoulders sagged. That was bleak.
“Or perhaps because there are no gods, there is no magic,” the ogre said.
“The third option is they were also injured and unable to do anything,” Pan said, hoping that he wasn’t outing himself as a useless god.
While he was talking, Noah walked over to the pile of stones and was examining the roof as if he knew what he was doing. He definitely did not know what he was doing.
Pan nodded at the werewolves. “Okay, you find some planks so we can get over the cracks on the road.” Then turned to Samiah. “Can you assist with the roof?” And finally, he turned to the ogre. “Can you take a couple of people to get the cart?”
Everyone split into their groups, leaving most of them at the rubble.
It didn’t take long for Samiah to determine they needed a serious piece of wood to act as the main support for the roof or to figure out that Pan was not going to be of any use with manual labor—he’d never needed to do any before.
She gave him a smile. “Do you want to check the houses for blankets and such while I find something to use as a support?”
No, he did not want to scavenge through a building that might fall down around his horns. He glanced at Noah, but Noah was helping the others clear the area of rubble. He was already being useful even though he didn’t speak Tarikian, and the Tarkians didn’t speak English.
He sighed. It was better to be useful than to stand around watching. “Noah, I’m going down the road to look for blankets. You need to be talking, even if it is only to describe what you’re doing.”
Noah glanced up. “I feel like a twit if I do that.”
“I don’t know what a twit is, but I assure you, it would be most helpful in helping them learn English.”
“Fine.” Noah picked up a stone. “Look at me picking up a rock and speaking to myself.”
Pan grinned. “Maybe with less sarcasm.”
“I’d throw this at you, but I don’t think it will reach you.”
Pan put his hand over his heart and took a step back. “Then I shall count my blessings.”
He hurried after Samiah before Noah changed his mind.
The street was empty when usually a town was bustling with life as people went about their chores or trades, and children played or learned.
There was music and laughter. Now there was only silence and the groaning of buildings as they complained about their damaged state.
It was easy to place the blame on humans and their scientists, but they had irrevocably changed their own world and didn’t seem too happy about it. Everyone was in a situation they hated.
“Don’t lean against any walls or touch anything, and we should be alright,” Samiah said before stepping into the building.
Pan stared up at the sky. Wondering how he had tumbled from his godly status to thief. He was robbing a ruined house to find blankets for people who no longer had houses.